Five Times I Could Not Stop For Death
by dnachemlia
Summary: And Once He Kindly Stopped For Me. He's always felt Death looking over his shoulder. Written for the Five Times Challenge and Stalked by Death Challenge. First person point of view. Canon character death.
1. Chapter 1

**Five Times I Could Not Stop For Death, and Once He Kindly Stopped For Me**

Written for the Stalked By Death and Five Times Challenges

Genre: Angst/Supernatural/Dark Humor; First Person POV; Five Times format (5 and 1)

Characters: Tim McGee, NCIS characters (past and present) and a few OCs

Rating: FR-15/T

Warnings: Canon character death

A sort-of sequel to another one of my stories in the last section.

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_**Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me;  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And Immortality.**_

_**~Emily Dickinson**_

_**Number One**_

The first time I almost died, I was only twelve.

I was on vacation with my family. My father always loved the sea, and even when he took a break from his job as a Navy Captain he still had to be near water. We were renting a house for a week on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. A friend of my father had given him a good deal on the house, and we spent most of the week on the beach, searching for shells, building sand castles, and, in my father's case, surf fishing. Other than a rather nasty case of sunburn (it turned out I needed a higher SPF than 15), I was having a good time. There weren't too many other people around, and most of those that were staying in the neighboring houses were retirees, so I didn't have to worry about older kids bullying me. It was a true vacation in that regard.

My father had been working with me to improve my swimming skills. I had been taught the basics over the years, but he thought I needed more, particularly long distance swimming in open water. At this beach, there was a sandbar about 500 yards offshore, and in between the beach and the bar was a channel which ran between 6 and 30 feet in depth. My father instructed me to swim to the sandbar and back. He would be with me, but not close by, in case something went wrong. It did.

I started out fine. The wind was calm, the waves weren't too high, and the water was the perfect temperature; green flag conditions. The sea nettles that had plagued the area in recent years were mostly absent, and I had only seen one. No Man o' War had been sighted, and even the shark sightings were down. It should have been safe.

I made it to the sandbar without difficulty. After about a ten minute break, my father said it was time to head back. I was still tired, but I figured I'd get a good rest in once I made it back to shore, with the added bonus of my father's approval for completing the task.

About half way to shore, I encountered a rip current. I did what I had been taught and swam in the direction it was flowing, trying to find the end of it so I could head for shore. Unfortunately it was flowing away from my father and carried me further out to sea, away from safety. My father did make it to shore and I could hear him yelling instructions and encouragement. By the time I finally managed to get out of the current, I was much further out and I was exhausted. I tried to tread water but my legs started to cramp and, going against everything my father had taught me, I started to panic. I could barely keep my head above water, and the last thing I head as I went down was my mother's scream.

I've read many descriptions of dying, of the "icy grip of death" since then, but at the time, all I felt was a presence. It was hovering just over my shoulder and I thought that if I turned my head, I would see it, and it would be all over. I thought of my parents, of my little sister who needed me, and, oddly enough, that I was ruining my father's vacation. To this day, I still don't know how, I used my last reserves and managed to make it back to the surface. That first breath of air, salty taste and all, was the most wonderful thing I've ever felt. I took another, and finally I could hear someone swimming towards me. It was my father. When he reached me, I felt a strong arm wrap around my chest and heard a hoarse "hang on, son" repeated several as he pulled my through the water to shore. When we got there, a crowd had gathered, including the paramedics that had been called in. They checked me over and pronounced me "damn lucky", much to my mother's obviously relief. My father stood outside the group while I was fussed over, but once we made it back to the house he grabbed me and pulled me into the tightest hug I'd ever felt. He then looked me in the eye and said, "Tim, don't you _ever_ do that to me again." I promised, hoping that I, too, would never again feel that horrible presence looking over my shoulder.

Unfortunately, just a few years later, I felt it again.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**Five Times I Could Not Stop For Death, and Once He Kindly Stopped For Me**

Written for the Stalked By Death and Five Times Challenges

A/N: Canon, with a twist ;)

* * *

Number Two

When my father brought home that Camaro the summer before my sixteenth birthday, I never expected that he had bought it for me. I also never expected that it would be the cause of my second experience with that dark presence looking over my shoulder.

My father told us that he had bought the car as a project and an opportunity for some male-bonding time with his decidedly less-than manly son. Even at that age, I was a geek. I had been given a computer for my 13th birthday, and, as they day, it was love at first sight. My father didn't understand my obsession with electronics, especially computers, and what he didn't understand he didn't really hold in high regard. In an attempt to get me to spend time on more "worthy" pursuits, he declared that for the entirety of my summer vacation, I would be helping him restore the car. If I had known then where it was going to lead I would have opted to stay in my room all summer.

Don't get me wrong: I love my father, despite everything that's happened over the years. I always have and always will, but I still couldn't help thinking that his attempt to break me of my "geek" habits was a disaster waiting to happen, in more ways than one.

The car was in pretty bad shape. The frame was intact, and it ran, but that was about it. It did take the entire summer, and a lot of blood, sweat, and yes, even a few tears to get that car into shape. I had to admit, I learned a lot that summer, not just about how to fix up a car, one that truly looked like a lost cause at the onset, but also about my Dad. While not one for face to face or formal conversation, he was a surprisingly adept storyteller. I learned more about the Navy than I ever could have from a book, and I thought that even though I'd never make it aboard ship, there had to be something I could do to help the institution that had shaped my father and his father before him. I had always been interested in law enforcement, but I hadn't considered the military as a place for me. I think it was during that time that I first had the idea of joining what was then NIS. I could still have a connection to the Navy, and to my father.

By the end of the summer, the car bore no resemblance to the hunk of junk my dad had procured back in May. It had been refinished and painted a deep midnight blue, and the interior upholstery had been replaced with a similar blue fabric, which offset the cream-colored leather seats. We had replaced most of the electrical systems, cleaned and re-furbished the engine, and replaced or repaired just about every part of that car until it looked like it had when it rolled off the showroom floor ten years earlier.

My Dad was proud of that car, I could tell, and almost as proud of the work I had done to help him. I joked that he would be the envy of the base, driving around in such a sweet ride. The day I passed my driving test in our old family car, I came home and told him, and then said that maybe I'd be lucky enough to drive the Camaro one day. He just grinned and handed me the keys. I was so shocked I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, which caused him to chuckle. _"It's yours, Tim. You've earned it,"_ he said. I think those words came back to haunt him later, but he never said anything, even after I came home from the hospital.

When people would ask me about the accident, I'd tell them I didn't remember anything. Since trauma induced amnesia is fairly common, no one questioned my response. In reality I remembered everything, but there are some things you just can't talk about, not even with your Dad.

When I climbed in the front seat that day, something felt _wrong_. I can't describe it any better than that. I attributed it to new driver jitters and started off on my drive. The car handled like a dream and I could almost imagine the envious expressions of my classmates when they saw me behind the wheel for the first time. I must admit, it was nice not to be at the bottom of the heap in something besides academics for once. Even with these thoughts, however, something was nagging at my subconscious. I chose to ignore it at the time.

I was about two blocks from home, following a bus, when all of a sudden the wipers starting flipping back and forth, faster than normal. I tried to turn them off, but they wouldn't stop. I felt a chill down my spine as I tried to keep my focus on the road in front of me, and then, without warning, the bus hit its brakes. I stomped on the brake pedal and it sank to the floor with no resistance. I knew what was going to happen, there was nothing I cold do to stop it, so I closed my eyes and waited for the end.

The screech of metal on metal was horrifyingly loud, and I barely had time to brace myself before the crushing pain hit me. My legs felt as if they were on fire, and I was pinned so tightly I couldn't move anything except my eyes. It was then that I felt that familiar dark presence, hovering just behind me, as if it were calmly sitting in the back seat: a solitary audience to my agony. I slowly opened my eyes and turned them towards the rearview mirror, now dangling just inches from my face. I don't even know what I expected to see, but before the dark image came into focus, I closed my eyes. One again, I had the strange idea that if I did in fact catch sight of whatever was there with me, I would be gone.

I clung to consciousness with every ounce of strength I had. I recited equations, short passages from books, even dialog from my favorite comics, anything to keep me awake and to hold the darkness at bay.

Finally I heard voices, people yelling at me from outside the mangled wreck that encased me like a cocoon. I turned my head as much as I could and opened them, looking away from the darkness and towards those trying to save me. As the emergency crews managed to make an opening in the wreckage and the EMTs prepared to extract me, I felt the presence dissipate. I breathed a sigh of relief and slipped into a much more comforting, _safe_ darkness.

I woke up two days later in the hospital. I told my parents I didn't know what happened, and I stuck with that story, almost to the point where I believed it.

Almost.

I will admit, after the accident I was much more cautious, much more careful. The fear of feeling the presence again stuck with me for a long time. I almost didn't pursue my goal of law enforcement, but eventually I made the decision that I couldn't live in fear any more.

My father never agreed with my choice of career. At first I thought he believed it wasn't worthy of a McGee, and I harbored that idea for years, determined to prove him wrong. Looking back, I think he may have blamed himself for the accident, and was trying in the only way he knew how to keep me safe. I couldn't understand why he would blame himself. Both of us worked on the car, and we had agreed that it was exactly as it should be. The wipers had been a short we had missed, and in my panic, I didn't hit the brakes right. Easy to explain, right?

Except it wasn't.

After I joined NCIS, and I had the abilities and resources available to me, I did some checking on my accident report. The car had been inspected before I took it for that first and last ride. Everything checked out. After the accident, it was checked again. Nothing had been wrong with that car at the time of the crash. I did some more digging. Turns out that car had been involved in another crash, this one fatal.

Most would believe it was just a coincidence, but I know the rule about those. Still, I never told anyone.

Who would believe me?

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Five Times I Could Not Stop For Death, and Once He Kindly Stopped For Me

Written for the Stalked By Death and Five Times Challenges  
Warnings: Canon character death, with a twist.

Number Three

_You belong to me, now._

Five little words that changed my life forever, although I had no idea how much at the time. Five words that signified my official place on Gibbs' team, and gave me a whole new familiarity with the dark specter of Death, this time as it visited other people.

During my first few months on the MCRT, I saw the actions of Death in a variety of forms: the pitiful mummified remains of a woman dressed as a bride, who had been held captive and left to slowly perish when her captor had no more use for her; the brutalized body of a "Jane Doe" whose demise had been brought about and covered up by a woman I had once considered a friend; the commingled remains of three people, a 'meat puzzle' requiring reassembling in order to solve a most gruesome crime, the extension of which almost cost us one of our most valued team members.

When not dealing with these visits from the Grim Reaper, I had plenty more with which I had to deal. I experienced the anxiety of protecting a family from terrorists, the worry for a lost teammate who was in the company of a brutal murderer, the shock of watching a man gunned down by the government on which he had believed would cover for him, no matter what transgressions he himself had committed. I felt the painful loss of someone I had stared to care for, and the incoherent rage towards the one who had taken her from me. I nearly took his life, and in the moment I realized that something had indeed died within me as well.

Life on the MCRT was never boring, and often accompanied by moments of shear terror, sometimes caused by Gibbs himself. There were plenty of times when I felt I would finally experience my own demise: from embarrassment, such as when I caught a horrible case of poison ivy and had to be examined by our medical examiner (and inadvertently showed off more than I ever wanted to his assistant) or when I mistakenly sent my very demanding boss to a sorority slumber party; from fright, when I, under specific orders, told the Deputy Secretary of State to "stick it"; or perhaps from frustration, when, time and time again, I was instructed to perform an impossible search in an unreasonable amount of time.

The pressure to measure up was much greater after I became an official member of the team. Before I had been a temporary nuisance, and later someone who could provide Gibbs with the key he needed to satisfy a vendetta. When I joined the MCRT, however, I found out how demanding he truly was, but the demands were almost comforting: I had grown up with such high expectations from my father, and now these expectations were coming from a new source, one I equally admired. It was an ironic situation, especially considering that the gain of one led to the loss of another.

I lost quite a bit during that first year: my innocence, some of my privacy, and quite a bit of my dignity; but nothing hurt as much as the loss of the relationship with my father, and my transfer to Gibbs' team marked the last time I spoke with him for a very long time.

I didn't come close to really losing my life again, however, until I had been on the team for nearly a year. The first possible brush with death came in the form of a letter, one that, if I had been the one to open, could very well have spelled the end of me. As it was, it almost _was_ the death of one of my teammates. Tony took the envelope from me, and thus very likely saved me from the pain and damage he experienced from a man-made variant of a Dark Age menace.

The second brush came from a terrorist's bomb, wired to the trunk of a car I almost opened. Once again, Tony came between me and a most painful demise, and once again I escaped. It was at that point I remembered that bad things come in threes and I wondered what else fate had in store for me.

When the team went to Norfolk in order to stop a terrorist attack, I knew something terrible was going to happen as soon as we stepped out of the sedan. That wrongness that I had felt in my car before the crash was back, stronger than it had been. I could barely concentrate on my task of jamming the signals of the rocket headed for the crowds on the pier, but I told myself I could do it, and ignored the familiar sensation of something dark and terrifying watching over my shoulder. I could hear the sounds of gunfire, and instinctively I flinched. Suddenly I realized that those bullets were flying at _me_ and I ducked down, only to feel something whiz by my head. In that instant I could have sworn I heard a scream of frustration and rage. At the time, I thought it was one of the people shooting at me and it was only after the shooting had stopped that I realized it couldn't have been. The sound had originated close by, too close to have been one of the shooters. While crouched behind the sedan, out of the line of fire, I saw that my controller had been shot. When I told Gibbs what had happened, I experienced the strangest sensation: the presence that I had felt since arriving at the warehouse grew stronger and suddenly vanished, almost as if it had flown off. I heard more gunfire, which soon ended, and I was almost ready to break cover when I heard one final shot. Somehow I knew that shot had been the reason why the presence had left: it had another target. I waited, my heart pounding in my chest, wondering who it had been, and praying it wasn't one of my teammates. That prayer went unanswered.

Later, when we examined the sedan and I saw the bullet hole right where my head had been only seconds before, I realized just how close I had come to dying. When Tony told me I owed that terrorist who had fired at me a thank you, I barely managed to avoid breaking down right then and there. I was alive, again, and I shouldn't be. I couldn't help but wonder if Kate had died because Death had once again missed his opportunity to take me.

When I finally worked up the courage to go see Kate, I was fighting the grip of another fear. I almost expected Death to be waiting for me down in the morgue, ready to take me for real, as it had been trying to do since I was just a kid. The morgue was empty, however, save for the body of my lost friend. The guilt I felt was crushing when I looked down at Kate's pale, still form, and I wondered: would the team be better off if it had been me lying on that cold metal slab? Tony tried, in his own strange way, to comfort me, but my admission that I was a little afraid was an understatement. I had so much to fear now, and I couldn't share the real reason for my terror with anyone.

Things come in threes and I had escaped the clutches of the Grim Reaper for the third time. I wondered if next time I encountered that dark presence, my luck would finally run out.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

Five Times I Could Not Stop For Death, and Once He Kindly Stopped For Me

Written for the Stalked by Death and Five Times Challenges  
Warnings: Mentions of canon character death. Disclaimer - don't own. Sigh.

Number Four

During the next few years of my time with the MCRT, the reality of death was something we faced more often than not. Our cases were more numerous, more complicated, and more gruesome, and while the queasiness I felt upon viewing death's handiwork never completely faded, I grew much more adept at hiding my natural reaction to it.

I faced that grim specter in a variety of ways, including the horror that I had possibly brought it upon an innocent. While I never knew if I had actually been the one to fire the fatal bullet, the fact that I _might_ have done it mattered more to me that I could ever make them understand, and another small part of me died along with Benedict. I almost walked away from the job I had fought so much to keep, but in the end I knew I had to stay, if for no other reason to atone, somehow, for my sin.

As the months and years passed, I continued to see more death and destruction. My job brought me into contact with some of the worst examples of humanity, including those who would kill for money, for power, for family, and even those who would terrorize someone for the sake of some twisted version of love. My team nearly lost its leader to a terrorist's bomb, and then lost him to retirement after those in power deemed the lives of a few sailors to be collateral damage. We got him back again when the life of another teammate was threatened, and then eventually for good when he just couldn't stay away from the job. Throughout this upheaval and change, I started to be more comfortable in my position, more confident, but underneath the fear and uncertainty of what I might face next was always lurking. I was never sure when I would turn a corner and come face to face with my mortality.

I also feared for my co-workers and family. The near miss with Gibbs brought it home to me how fragile our existence truly was, and Sarah's experience with a brutal attack reminded me how easily I could lose someone for whom I had felt responsible since she was born. I was reminded again of the tenuous nature of our existence when we almost lost Abby. It was due to my inattention, and while _she_ forgave me for that transgression, but I couldn't help but feel as if maybe my own escapes were now being brought against those I cared about.

I had attempted to escape the reality I faced by retreating into a fictional world, but even there I had the same people, the same problems. Although I could exert control over what happened to them, it didn't completely erase my own problems, and in fact created more of a different nature. Threats of death by my co-workers now accompanied the real threat, and I often wondered why I have even tried in the first place. The worst part of that decision, using real people as inspiration for fiction, was when I attracted the attention of one who _couldn__'__t_ separate reality from fantasy. Once again death appeared on my doorstep, this time taking more innocents and almost costing me the life of a friend. On the heels of the very recent loss of another friend, and the fact that that time it _should_ have been me, and almost was, I nearly left the team. I began to truly believe that I was a jinx, and death stalked not just me, but those I cared about as well. I'm not even really sure what stopped me, but finally I decided to stay.

I was regretting that decision just a few weeks later as I watched my partner's car explode on the screen in MTAC. Unbeknownst to most of us, Tony had been on an undercover assignment involving an international arms dealer, part of a personal vendetta of our Director's that had brought all of us, including Ducky, into very real danger, and on several separate occasions. When Tony indicated to the Director that his cover had been blown, we were all read in on the op, for what seemed at the time to be too little, too late. Surprisingly, given all my past experiences, I couldn't believe that Tony was dead. They say one of the first stages of grief is denial, but I think it was more than that. I think that if he had truly been gone, it would have destroyed the last few threads of sanity that I had, and I clung to those like a man clinging to the edge of a precipice. The relief that I felt when I saw my teammate step out of the elevator, accompanied by snarky comments and thinly veiled anger, was greater than almost any I had felt in years. The dark presence had not taken him this time and I could breathe freely once again.

After that incident, my attitude changed. I can't really explain it, other than I might have been laughing, albeit weakly, in Death's face. I know the others saw the change and were probably as much of at a loss to explain my behavior, especially given the fact that they didn't know the things I did. Sometimes I could feel myself cringe at my harsh words, such as when I told Tony he had been more stoic in the past about facing his mortality, but I couldn't help it. I think he might have forgiven me for that when I saved him from falling to his death, and maybe forgave myself a little in the process, but I brushed off his thanks as if it didn't matter. It did, but the façade remained. I guess my skin had just grown thicker where death was concerned. Or so I hoped.

I continued to face danger in many forms, including the four-legged embodiment of drugged-out rage. Why I had been sent to check the rear-entrance of the house without backup, I'll never know, but it almost cost me more than a few stitches and shredded sleeves. The backlash I faced for defending myself made me wonder if death was finally exerting it's obviously cruel sense of humor on my co-workers and making me its punchline. Even through that close call, though, I didn't feel the dark shadow over my shoulder that I had come to associate with those occasions when death was ready to take me. I hadn't felt it in years, but I _did_ feel it again, just a couple of months later.

It was just a month after the incident in which led to the loss of one Director and the gain of a new one. That incident spelled the end of our team (yet another loss, one that would take a long time to regain) and my banishment to the sub-basement. I had dealt with the humiliation as quietly as I could, realizing that it could have been much worse, but I found that I was losing myself. I was becoming someone I didn't like much: short-tempered, sarcastic, and secretive. I was keeping secrets from a man I trusted, under the orders of a man I didn't. To make matters worse, I didn't feel like I was making any progress on my assigned task. I was a failure, and my self confidence had almost been dealt a fatal blow, a closer call than I would ever admit.

Finally, I decided I needed a break, and I put in the paperwork for a long weekend. I needed to get away, to think, and to reconcile myself with my current situation. I decided to take a trip along the Skyline drive in Virginia and to stay at one of the lodges. On my way there, that first night, I was trying to keep my mind off work but the scenery was not a sufficient distraction. I became so absorbed in finding a distraction that I didn't realize I had missed an important turn, and was now traversing a road out in the middle of nowhere. I turned around to head back, hoping to fins the correct road, and had only gone about a mile when my car sputtered and died. I was shocked, as I had just had everything checked before I left. I got out, popped the hood, and checked the connections on the battery and sparkplugs, but everything seemed to be in order. After I decided that it was beyond my capabilities to fix, and since the light was quickly fading, I decided to call for a tow. When I pulled out my phone, I was surprised to find that the battery was dead. Dead car, dead battery…suddenly I remembered once again that things come in threes and I felt an almost irrational surge of fear. Was I next on the list?

Finally I decided to start walking in the direction I had been headed. I vaguely remembered that there were a few signs of civilization along the way, and hopefully I could find a phone to call for help. Swallowing my anxiety, I grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and started out, keeping a careful watch for any signs of danger. I had covered a couple of miles when suddenly all the hairs on the back of my next stood straight up. The dark presence was back.

My flight or fight responses seemed to be offline as I froze, unable to decide what to do. I glanced around, making sure to not look over my shoulder as the old fear of what I might see there returned full force. By this time it was too dark to see anything, so I held my breath and listened. Just as I was about to let out my breath, I heard, just at the limits of my ability to detect it, a soft chuckle from directly behind me. That did it. I ran.

I raced along the road, the light from my flashlight barely keeping my path illuminated. In the nick of time saw that the road curved to the right and I barely managed to keep from falling over the edge into the ravine below. In the back of my mind I wondered if that had been the intent of my pursuer and I continued to run as fast as I could. Wishing that I had been better about spending time in the gym, I ran until the muscles in my legs were burning and I could barely breathe, and once again I wondered about the intent of the presence that I could still feel behind me. A heart attack on the side of the road in the middle of the night seemed all too real of a prospect, and against my better judgment I slowed to a walk to catch my breath.

I heard a low growl behind me, almost like the sound Gibbs would make when he was impatient with our efforts, and considered running again when twin beams of light pierced the darkness. I barely made it out of the way as the car approached and roared by, not even slowing it's progress. I heard the growl again, louder this time, and completely unearthly.

_That's three…_

Before I could react to that idea, I saw another set of headlights. When the white lights washed over me they were joined by flashing red and blue and the vehicle slowed to a stop next to me. I heard a car door open and a figure stepped out, which soon shined a bright light in my face and I squinted as I tried to keep it in my sights.

"_Hitchhiking __is__ against __the__ law__ '__round__ these__ parts,__"_ said the figure in a loud, rough male voice.

"_I__ wasn__'__t__ hitchhiking. __My__ car__ died__ and__ I__ was __trying__ to __find__ a__ phone,__"_ I replied as I tried to keep my voice steady.

"_Good thing I came along, then. Hop in."_

Any worries I might have had about the man's intent disappeared when I heard a groan of disgust from behind me and my companion vanished. I managed a deep sigh of relief and climbed into the cruiser. The officer turned to study me and a concerned expression crossed his face.

"_You OK, son? You look like you've seen a ghost."_

"_Worse."_

"_I beg your pardon?"_

I just shook my head and leaned back in the seat. After a moment of silence, the officer put the cruiser back into gear and turned it toward civilization.

I stayed in the closest town that night, uneager to revisit that dark road, and in the morning found a tow truck and headed out to find my car. The mechanic was able to fix it relatively easily (just a loose wire I hadn't been able to see) and I was off again.

I tried to tell myself it was just a coincidence that my car had died in that particular spot, setting off the chain of events that I had experienced. Then I remembered whose team I had recently been on and one of his most important rules: no such things as coincidences. I had been set up, and I had barely escaped with my life yet again. Death was becoming more aggressive. I really started to wonder when it would finally catch up to me.

_TBC…_


	5. Chapter 5

Five Times I Could Not Stop For Death, and Once He Kindly Stopped For Me

Written for the Stalked by Death and Five Times Challenges  
Disclaimer - Don't own, and all that jazz

Number Five

Oddly enough, it was death that brought our team back together.

We were apart for over four months. Abby kept in touch with Tony, and I kept in touch with Ziva as much as I could, but the time apart was wearing on everyone. I addition to the separation by distance, I was now separated by my position on Vance's mole hunt. I hated that I couldn't tell anyone about the op, especially the knowledge that there had been a reason behind our team being split up in the first place. I don't know if it would have made much difference but at least they would have known sooner rather than later that we were not being punished.

I couldn't have been happier the day that Vance gave me permission to read Gibbs in on the mission, which, in truth, also marked the start of the first real advances we made on the case. Working with Gibbs again gave me the nerve to approach Director Vance with the idea on how to get the file info we needed and that, in turn, gave me confirmation that some of my fears were unjustified: Tony was OK, Ziva was OK, and maybe we really could be a team again.

Langer's death came as a shock, more so to Gibbs than anyone else, and I sensed the doubts he was feeling: how could his instincts have been that wrong? I hadn't known the man well enough to feel the same impact from his death that Gibbs did, but I saw its effects, something that marked a change in the dynamics of our team, and not for the better. Doubts plagued all of us during that next year, in one form or another.

Ziva returned, and eventually Tony escaped his Agent Afloat assignment. We were finally back together, but things were definitely not the same. The trust that we had all shared was strained, compounded by the fact that no one really trusted our new director, and there was still some animosity towards Gibbs, although no one would dare say it out loud. He hadn't protected us as he had in the past, another loss caused by Death's influence on the Agency.

It took awhile to get back to the routine. I never truly doubted that my teammates had my six, even though there was some suspicion about my role in Vance' activities, I knew, and some resentment that I had been allowed to stay on aboard the Yard. I may not have helped myself in that regard, but I suppose my outward behavior was a reflex to being put in that position. My bigger worry was my teammates' trust in each other, as well as their trust in themselves. The team's relationship was whittled away by the continued and undisclosed agenda of Vance, beginning with the discovery that we had not, in fact, found the true mole. We were manipulated to the point where everyone seemed suspect, even Abby. I can't describe the relief I felt when I discovered the true plan, and I truly understood Tony's anger surrounding the whole operation. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Our faith in our jobs and our trust in everyone was dying, a fraction at a time.

The situation with the team was made even worse by the machinations of Ziva's father and her Mossad compatriots. Sometimes I felt like I was caught in the middle between Ziva and the rest of my co-workers and, not wanting to lose their friendships, I avoided their confrontations. Later, I wished I had done something but as they say, hindsight is always 20/20. If I had known where all of this would lead, I would have done anything to get us back to the way we had been.

Then, the final straw was applied to the proverbial camel's back. The arrival of Michael Rivkin, and the reveal of his mission, as well as his relationship with Ziva, drove away what little trust had been held between Ziva and Tony, and even made _me_ question the faith I had in my teammate. We could no longer ignore what was in front of us, and this time it was Ziva who could not shake her denial about her lover or his mission. The final confrontation between Rivkin, Tony, and Ziva nearly destroyed us: Tony was injured, Rivkin was dead, and any friendship that might have remained between Tony and Ziva was shattered. When the rest of the team and Vance left for Israel, I had a bad feeling about what would happen to Tony when he was confronted by Mossad, but I never expected that Ziva would be left behind, not by her choosing, but by Gibbs. The strange, dysfunctional little family that I had known for the past three years was broken. While none of us had died, what we had now was not really living, not the way we had been for years.

That summer when Ziva was apart from us was difficult. While some of the relationship between Tony and I was slowly repaired, it wasn't the same as it had been with the three of us and Gibbs. I event went so far as to suggest to Gibbs that it was "time to fill that empty chair" in an attempt to get a reaction, to get the ball moving to get Ziva back and make our family whole again, but the response I got was unexpected: Gibbs actually agreed. Things were _much_ worse than I had imagined.

When Tony finally admitted that the situation wasn't right, I finally felt some hope. Little did I know that moment would lead to my fifth encounter with the entity I had barely escaped the last time.

We teamed up with Abby to find Ziva, and when we were finally told the truth about the fate of the Damocles, it was as if everything had stopped. I couldn't believe that Death had taken another teammate, another _friend_, and during the whole time we had been trying to find her, she was already gone.

We were all running on autopilot, it seemed, although I don't even think we noticed until Tony finally declared that it wasn't right. We had to get justice for Ziva, and so Tony and Gibbs came up with a plan, for which Tony volunteered me to tag along as well. I agreed to help, and everything was as fine as it could be until our plane landed in Somalia. When I stepped onto what passed as a tarmac I felt that familiar presence, but this time it was much, much worse. Somehow, even though I couldn't detect tangible proof, I knew there was more than one. They hadn't just come for me this time, but for all of us.

I admit, I was terrified. I wanted to get back on the plane, to Hell with Saleem Ulman and his crew. What awaited us in that miserable desert was unlike anything I had felt before and I wanted no part of it. Tony and Gibbs were committed to the cause, however, and I really had no choice but to go along. If I had known that it wasn't just a mission for revenge, but instead a rescue mission, I'm sure I would have felt very differently, but as it was I couldn't help but think that this was the mother of all bad ideas.

We drove to our target and were apprehended, just as we had planned, and the feeling of dread grew even stronger. At any moment I expected to feel the impact of a bullet, or the sharp agony of a knife blade thrust into me, but surprisingly we arrived at Saleem's camp with our bodies mostly intact. The beating I received before I was tied and dumped on the floor in that filthy room was nothing compared to what I had expected when we arrived. I played my part as we waited for the opportunity, and then we received the shock of our lives: Ziva was there, battered and broken, but alive. I could barely answer when she asked how I was, but the answer I did give was completely honest. It was the first good thing that had happened since we had arrived and although I could still feel the darkness that surrounded us, I began to feel as if we might luck out once again.

That feeling disappeared soon after when I found Saleem's gun in my face and I froze, not because of him, but because of the sudden shift in the darkness. It was practically buzzing with excitement. I sent up a small prayer to whomever might be listening that if it was going to happen, it would be over quick, and that at least one of us would make it out of there so that everyone back home would know what had happened, that we had tried.

"_Remember when I said my boss was a sniper?"_

The sound of breaking glass, quickly followed by the thud of a body on the floor signaled the sudden end of Saleem Ulman. As soon as I heard it, I was in motion, freeing myself and then Tony before the two of us tended to Ziva. Out stumbling escape was accompanied by the sounds of screams and gunfire, and underneath, unheard by everyone except me, mutterings of anger and disappointment. The darkness didn't leave us, however, and I felt its presence all the way back to the plane, where it still did not leave. I fully expected our transport to blow up when we took off, and I sat in silence, away from my teammates, waiting for the world to end.

It didn't.

For the entire trip home, I could still feel the entity that had stalked is through the desert. Its presence stole my ability to communicate with my team but I don't think they noticed. None of them seemed to be up to talking about what had happened. Or maybe they were sensing the threat that I had felt. I'll never know.

The dark presence remained until we arrived at the Navy Yard, and when we stepped off the elevator to greet our audience and the sounds of applause echoed through the room, I finally felt it dissipate. I managed to breathe a sigh of relief, an action that was taken to be a result of our successful mission, I imagine. Ziva was finally back, our family was together again, and even though I knew that we would still face difficulties in dealing with the fallout, we were on our way back to normal.

Unfortunately, I could not shake off my latest encounter with the darkness. There was something different this time, something much more focused and sinister. I was quite certain that if I sensed it again, that experience would be my last.

My time was running out.

_TBC…_


	6. Chapter 6

Warnings: Dark humor. This chapter is, believe it or not, more lighthearted than the others, and contains references to another one of my stories, _Spare__ Me __Over__ '__til__ Another__ Year_. You don't have to read it to know what is going on, but I recommend that you do ;)

Disclaimer: Don't own, yadda yadda

* * *

**And Once Again**

The incidents which could have, _should_ have, ended in my death were numerous. Some I didn't even see coming, like the sweet faced woman who pretended to be interested in me, only to turn on me when I wouldn't give her the information she desired. Ironically enough, another assassin stopped her from using the gun she had aimed at my heart, and even more ironic was my lack of fear. I guess I had come to rely on my strange companion to let me know I was in danger.

Other times I faced a potential deadly situation, such as a speeding car or a bomb, I knew full well what the consequences could be, but again the fear wasn't there. I wondered if, as a result of my repeated escapes, I was becoming reckless.

The less tangible dangers actually brought about more fear. The threat of a serial killer, stalking Navy personnel, and eventually the NCIS agents I knew, was somehow much worse: death personified.

I realized after that particular case was over, several months after the dangers had passed, that I had grown complacent. The dangers didn't seem as real anymore, and I wondered if I was finally going to get to live my life in peace.

We worked the cases we were given. I still witnessed the results of tragic endings, but the idea of it happening to me, or to one of my team seemed more and more remote as the time passed.

Until, of course, the case that changed everything.

It was supposed to be a simple job. We had gone to check a warehouse where a drug dealer who had been supplying the local base was supposed to be hiding. The case had come under our purview due to the deaths of several Marines who had used this particular dealer's product, and we were eager to find the man and close out that case as quickly as possible. Tony and I were checking the ground level, while Ziva and Gibbs were in the loft. We had almost finished our search when I heard a sound behind me and turned.

The bullet that tore into my chest was a complete surprise, as was sudden loss of strength in my legs as I tumbled to the hard cement floor with a jarring crash. I barely registered the sound of more gunshots and another falling body, and the running footsteps that vibrated through the floor where I lay were merely background noise to my screaming agony.

I kept my eyes shut, afraid of what I would finally see, and I barely heard Tony's frantic questions as he tried to stem the flow of blood from my chest. His hands only caused me more pain and I could feel myself start to withdraw from it. As the edges of my consciousness started to blur, I could feel a different kind of hold overwhelm me, and I heard another voice.

"_Timothy McGee. So nice to finally meet you."_

Instinctively I knew who, or _what_ it was that was speaking to me, but the pitch and tone were surprising. The voice was rich, cultured, and sounded like one you would expect to be narrating a History Channel special on British royalty. Nothing like the sinister shriek I had expected.

"_You've caused me quite a bit a trouble, you know. I was beginning to think you were part cat."_

I could only listen as Death, no longer just looking over my shoulder, continued its monologue.

"_You caused a near riot when you number came up this time, you know. After so many times, my employees insisted that if anyone was going to take you, it would have to be me. So here I am."_

I clung to consciousness with everything I had. I could feel Tony start chest compressions, and I could hear his muffled voice telling me to hang on.

_I'm trying Tony, I'm really trying…_

I heard an annoyed sigh.

_"__You__'__ve __had__ a__ good__ life,__ Timothy,__ saved__ a__lot__ of__ people,__ including__ yourself__…__more __times __than__ you__ should__ have__ been__ able __to,__ I__ must __admit.__ But__ it__'__s__ time__ to __come __with__ me,__ now.__ Just__ let __go.__"_

_No…_

Suddenly I heard more running footsteps and the sound Ziva's voice, surprisingly full of panic. The patently unflappable ex-Mossad officer was…crying.

_I'm sorry, Ziva. Sorry, Tony…_

I could feel my hold slipping away, and I was almost ready to follow Death's command when I felt a different sort of presence, one that was both intimidating and comforting. I sensed that it was now leaning close to me and soon it whispered in my ear.

"_McGee, listen to me."_

_Boss?_

"_Are you listening? You will not die. Is that clear? You. Will. Not. Die."_

_Boss, I…_

"_Oh,__ for __pity__'__s __sake.__"_ The voice now sounded disgusted and, much to my surprise, almost amused. _"__One__ game.__ One__ bet__ I__ never__ should__ have__ made. __Ah __well,__ live__ and__ learn__…__so__ to__ speak.__"_

_What?_

Suddenly I was much more aware of the pain, of the people around me, trying their best to keep me alive until help arrived. I couldn't understand it. Why was this happening?

"_Looks __like__ you__'__re__ not__ coming__ with__ me__ today,__ after__ all.__Luck __is__ with __you.__ Or,__ should__ I__ say,__** Gibbs**__' __luck__ is__ with__ you.__"_ The voice was silent for a minute as I tried to determining the meaning of those words. _"__I__ suppose__ I__'__ll__ be__ leaving__ you __alone __from __now__ on.__ You__'__re__ just__ too __much__ trouble,__Timothy__ McGee.__ Rather __like__ your __boss.__ Take__ my __advice:__ never__ play __poker__ with__ that __man.__ You__'__ll__ thank__ me__ for__ that __one__ day,__ and__ you__'__ll__ have__ plenty __more__ days__ to__ consider __it.__ That__ is, __unless __you__ manage__ to__ do __something __truly__ stupid.__"_

_Not planning on it…_

"_Good. I will be seeing you later, Timothy McGee, but I think it's best for all concerned if I wait until you're old and gray. Goodbye…for now."_

The presence vanished and I gasped as I finally felt the release of its cold grip.

"_Tim?"_

"_McGee?"_

I opened my eyes and saw three faces hovering over me, worried brown, green and blue eyes all staring into mine.

"_Still…here…"_

The expressions of relief I saw on those three faces were the most beautiful things I had ever seen, and they were the last thing I saw before I fell into unconsciousness.

I awoke quite some time later in a hospital bed surrounded by monitors, and also surrounding by my friends. I was told repeatedly that I had better never do anything like that again, and once again I said I wasn't planning on it. After all, I knew what was truly at stake now. I had escaped Death more times than I had to right to do so and now I had been granted one last reprieve. I would never take what I had for granted again, because finally I knew: the next time Death stopped for me…I would be following it home.

_The End_


End file.
